


Dreams

by kuonji



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related: Progeny, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> <i>"I made an appointment for you with Dr. Heightmeyer." At the twist of annoyance in Rodney's face, John continues: "Mine is today."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative Links:  
> <http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/2460.html>

Atlantis explodes four times that night. Sparks shower down, the ground shakes, and people crowd desperately through the Stargate towards safety as the whine of Wraith darts seems to surround them.

The fourth time it happens, John stares at the ceiling, no longer angry or irritated as he had been the first three times, but just... tired.

He glances at the clock -- 0400 -- and figures that he might as well get up. He's sure he can find something productive to do, or at least enough to distract himself.

He does some stretches, but, finding himself in a jittery and paranoid mood, he decides to follow his own regulations for once and foregoes a solitary run outside.

Even taking the stairs and taking the long way around, it still takes only twenty minutes to reach the cafeteria. It's not even five AM when he jogs up the steps. Even dimmed as it is at this hour, the lack of people makes it easy to spot a lone figure at the table closest to the kitchens.

Rodney has an MRE in front of him, and he is nursing a cup of coffee. The level of the carafe next to his elbow proves it to be his third cup. John debates for a moment sneaking up on the scientist, just for laughs. But Rodney raises his head and snorts in his direction like a grumpy horse.

"It wasn't funny the first time, Colonel. It'll be less funny now. Trust me."

"What are you talking about?" John sidles in, affecting an unconcern that has Rodney repeating his horse impression. Making his way into the deserted kitchen, John pulls out an MRE for himself as well as a glass of orange juice -- just to piss McKay off -- and settles himself at the same table.

The light coming in the windows is getting stronger by the minute, and when John gets a look at Rodney's face, he doesn't like what he sees. It's as pinched and sleepless as his own had looked in the mirror half an hour ago.

"You're up early," he comments.

As he expects, Rodney pulls out one of his long-winded replies. This time, John notes as he gives himself a virtual point, it's even a meta-reply: "You know, there's so many different answers I could give to that, I could just put them in a hat and shake them around like--"

"You're free tomorrow at 2PM, right?" he interrupts, which makes Rodney blink with affronted incomprehension.

"Uh. Yes. Why?"

"I made an appointment for you with Dr. Heightmeyer." At the twist of annoyance in Rodney's face, John continues: "Mine is today, and Teyla and Ronon have orders to settle on a time this week." At that, Rodney seems to subside.

"Oh. Fine." He says. Post-traumatic-missions (e.g. almost every mission SGA-1 has the luck to go on, it seems) sessions with the shrink have become routine.

John digs into his cold reconstituted eggs with more enthusiasm than they strictly deserve as he considers his next words. He decides finally that he owes it to Rodney to finish his thought.

"I sort of mentioned to her about how you were tortured."

The change is dramatic. Rodney freezes. Ignoring even the coffee he had been raising to his lips, he sets down his mug with a solid thump.

"I wasn't tortured," he says. His voice is so severely calm, it makes John feel worse than if he had gone into hysterics, as John had at first expected.

"That puddlejumper I thought we got into, getting through that gate back to Atlantis, that felt as real to me as anything I've ever done. Whatever they made you see, _it happened_."

Rodney's face flushes dark. It starts with two blotches of color on his cheeks, then spreads at an alarming rate until his entire face is bright red. "You had no right," he seethes. And again, louder, "You had no right!"

"Hey, 'hideous' _and_ 'intimate'. As your team leader, I think I did."

Rodney stands abruptly, the scrape of plastic and metal harsh on the Atlantis floor.

"Whoa, whoa!" John jumps to his feet, too.

Cue hysteria.

More out of instinct than anything, John grabs hold of Rodney's arm before he can storm off.

Rodney whips around with alacrity and tries to force him off, using surprising strength but little skill. "Let me go, you son of a--" John fends off his clumsy attacks, having at one point to knock away the fork that Rodney from some inspiration tries to _stab_ him with.

"Sit down, dammit!" By dint of pure muscle, John drags him back down into his seat, both of them breathing heavily. Rodney seems to feel the power of authority in his words, though, because he does not attempt to rise again. "What's your problem, McKay?" he demands, even though he's pretty sure he knows.

McKay isn't bad, but he's still a civilian. John remembers when he was still a raw recruit, wondering after every mission if his teammates were getting ready to cut him loose for what he sees as his mistakes.

McKay bristles. Quietly. He doesn't answer.

"Look, McKay, I know this is rough. But I will drag you through whatever hell I can, and then some, if it'll keep you on the team."

Rodney raises his chin sharply at that. It takes John a moment to figure out the expression on his face is outrage. "You were considering taking me off the team?!"

John hasn't even gotten to the pep talk part of the talk. The part where he tells McKay to hang in there, because he's an asset to the team and they can't afford to lose him, etc. etc. etc. "No!" he shouts back, miffed. "That's what I was just saying, wasn't I?"

"Oh really?" Rodney's lips curl. "I could've sworn you were saying that if I didn't, what, go meekly through whatever hell you deem necessary, that you were kicking me out."

"I didn't say that."

"You did! After all I've done--"

"If you had let me finish--"

"You just try taking me off the team. You'll all be _dead_ inside a week! See if you're not."

John feels like tearing his hair out, and that would just be travesty. He tries to focus himself: Objective, keep your eye on the objective. "Look, the bottom line is, you're going to the damn appointment, and you're going to talk to the nice doctor about what the nasty aliens made you see. Or so help me, you _are_ off the team."

"See! I was right!"

"Are you going or not?"

John slams his fist on the table and Rodney looks on the verge of a stroke. He finally replies,

"Fine."

"Fine."

John snatches up his orange juice and downs it all in one go. It's mostly to keep himself from giving in to the urge to throw it in Rodney's face.

Muted bangs and clangs and the thumping of the refrigerators opening and closing alert them to the arrival of the kitchen staff. A couple of curious faces peer out from the serving area but shrug back to work. The quality of the silence drifts from boiling to sullen.

"I didn't think I'd told them anything," Rodney says. His voice is bitter with a hint of tremor in it. "I just, I can't believe I cracked under pressure like that. Or maybe, the problem is that no one was surprised at all." He makes a face.

John is so struck by the ridiculousness of the statement that he can't say anything for a full minute. Is _that_ what Rodney had been all in a snit about? God, but McKay was a hard nut to crack, for all that he looked like an open book.

"Exploding volcano ring a bell?" he reminds him. When Rodney looks like he wants to argue, he adds, "Giant storm? Wraith on siege? Sunk puddlejumper? Oh wait," he amends, "you were a wreck during that, too. You're really not happy unless you're the one playing the all-knowing perfect superman, are you? All the goddamn time."

Rodney's blue eyes flash. He opens his mouth. Closes it. "Shut up," he finally says. Everyone older than four knows that a rejoinder like that is practically saying, 'I give up.' So John graciously doesn't say any more.

The silence between them grows more companionable. Other people are starting to drift in now, from the transporter and the stairs both. Marines fresh from their showers, scientists muzzy from eight hours without caffeine.

"So, uh, I guess in _your_ little scene, we all got away safe and sound?" Rodney asks, with the air of making conversation, which for McKay is like the ultimate flag of truce.

John snorts in reply. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Then the Wraith attacked and Atlantis blew up."

"Oh." Rodney looks stricken. His expression is so horrified and open that John feels compelled to continue.

"They hit the shield generators on the first pass. Elizabeth ordered an evacuation. No time for the full countdown, so you rigged the self-destruct to start with just a few seconds' warning. Shields were down, the gate wasn't going to hold, people were injured... Last thing I remember, I was standing there, waiting for everyone to get out so I could put in the last codes for the self-destruct, and then--"

"Oh, of course. Even the replicators realized that you have to be the self-sacrificing martyr in every scenario."

He glares until Rodney makes a grand gesture for him to continue.

"So there I was, getting ready to blow up Atlantis and maybe myself with it. And something funny happened: You were there, saying it wasn't right that I was the one to do it, even said we should flip a coin for it." He pauses here, studying Rodney's gaping face. "Weird, huh?"

It's strange. Elizabeth waiting on the control room floor, Teyla looking back at him, those things he's become almost resistingly confident in expecting. But McKay. He's a hard nut to crack. That last tug on his jacket had felt as real as anything he's ever done, and it sits badly with him that he doesn't know if it's _true_.

Rodney's eyes on him are wide. "Hm, well..." he says. "That doesn't sound much like me, does it?" John winces minutely as Rodney turns his gaze to his food. "Well," Rodney adds, without looking up, "at least not the me that most people figure, huh?"

John watches him begin to shovel food in like there's no tomorrow.

 _I eat when I'm nervous._ From what seems like an age ago, he remembers the insistent words.

Feeling his face giving way to a grin, John pushes aside his food and stretches his forearms across the table. The sunlight is just reaching them, and the gold light through the stained glass is mesmerizing. He puts his head in his arms and finds himself drifting off to the sound of the sea and Rodney's scandalized, "You're not going to finish that?"

  
END.


End file.
